Destinations & Determinism
by melanie.deeee
Summary: A hapless Dungeon Master must contend with some seriously frustrating players, who seem determined to derail his story at every available opportunity.


"So you all meet in a tavern," the Dungeon Master begins. "Over the past few weeks, a number of 'Wanted' ads have been popping up all over the area, calling on brave and mighty adventurers to undertake a noble task that could save the entire town!"

"What's the name of the town?" asks Melanie, the Aasimar Cleric.

"The town is called Hallowmire," sez the DM.

"That's a dumb name for a town," retorts Melanie.

"I don't care. That's what the town is called. So anyway, you all meet at the tavern in Hallowmire -"

"Does the tavern have a name?" Melanie again.

"Does it really matter?" snaps the DM.

"It's _important_ ," Melanie affirms.

"It _does_ help with the world-building to know about the tavern we're in…" admits Tristan, the Human Bard.

"Fine," grumbles the DM. "The tavern is called... uh… The Salty Schooner."

"This tavern was named by a moron," quips Melanie. "Just like everything else in this friffing backwater town, probably."

General snickering among the group. Except for the DM, who's starting to get mighty peeved, here.

"Look," growls the DM. "Do you asshats want to play the game, or don't you?"

"Yeah, let's stop kidding around for a second, here," suggests Zoe, the Elven Druid.

"What does the tavern _look_ like?" interjects Melanie.

"Oh I don't friffing know," sez the DM. "You're all sitting around a table, with tankards of foaming ale in yr hands. You've just made each other's acquaintance for the first time. You've got a few minutes before someone is scheduled to show up and send you on your quest."

"Is the table made of wood?" Melanie.

"Obviously."

"Mahogany?"

"Probably. Now, if you're done, Melanie, you're all introducing yourselves to each other. Who wants to go first?"

Dennis, the Half-Orc Barbarian, speaks up: "My name is Dennis. I am a Half-Orc Barbarian. My hobbies include long walks on the beach, and bashing in skulls with my mighty Warhammer."

Next up, Zoe: "Hi, I'm Zoe! I'm an Elven Druid. I enjoy wandering through dense forests and conversing with woodland critters. I never shower but I still smell pretty good thanks to my natural Elven perfume. Um, can I write that on my character sheet?"

"Ugh. Fine, whatever. Okay, Tristan, yr turn."

"I'm Tristan the Bard, and I looooove to sing and strum my lute."

Melanie giggles, inferring innuendo where none is intended.

"Anyway, I've taken up the adventuring life to inspire my lyrics!" continues Tristan.

"What genre of music do you play?" asks Melanie.

"Uh, it's very ethereal. Kind of like Cocteau Twins meets Slowdive. Lots of reverb."

"Tristan, that kind of music doesn't exist yet," sez the DM.

"I don't care," sez Tristan.

"Will you play a song for us?" queries Mel.

"Yes, maybe he can play a song for us later," snaps the DM. "Mel, it's yr turn to describe yr _friffing_ character."

"We-eee-ell," Melanie giggles, and does a hairflip like in anime. "My name is Melanie. Melanie T'Starlight von Goldensdawn. I'm an Aasimar Cleric, which means my granddaddy boned a celestial goddess from the Astral Plane and that's why I'm so pretty and ethereal. I'm also a princess –"

"Melanie we friffing talked about this…"

"I'm a PRINCESS," Melanie affirms. "And I have a high Charisma score so everyone loves me."

"Oh hey, me too!" Tristan.

Melanie and Tristan high-five IRL.

"Ahem. So just as you're talking a man walks into the tavern and approaches your table."

"We kill him and loot his body!" Melanie fistpumps with bloodlust and vigour.

"Maybe we should talk to him first?" suggests Dennis.

"Who is this fellow?" wonders Zoe. "Does he seem evil or whatever?"

"He seems like a nice, ordinary gentleman."

"How old is he?"

"He's sixty. Stop asking me superfluous questions, Melanie. You're killing the flow of my story. Now, anyway, he approaches the table, and with a genial chuckle he spaketh: 'Oh, hello there! You must be the brave adventurers who have responded to the call of valour!'"

"No, you're thinking of the adventurers at the _other_ table. We're just here to chill out and drink beer for nine hours or whatever."

" _MELANIE._ "

"Okay, gee whiz. I'll be good now."

"A- _hem_. The old man continueth: 'No, I'm pretty sure you guys are the adventurers I'm looking for. And boy, do I have a task for you!'"

"Killing rats in the basement?"

"No, Tristan. A task far more fitting for heroes of your…potential. You see, there is a cave to the northwest of our fair and peaceful town of Hallowmire. It used to be a peaceful cave, too. That is until…until this strange light began to emanate from it, a few weeks ago."

"What kind of light?" investigates Zoe, actually helping to bring the plot forward a bit.

"Well, that's what's so strange about it. It's lots of different colours. I have lived many a year, and I confess, I have never seen anything like it… The light comes out in…how you say…javelins of colours. And they're always changing…

"Like a RAVE?" Melanie perks up suddenly.

"What? No. Those don't even exist in this universe. But the point is that the lights coming from the cave are mysterious, and anyone who goes near it…vanishes. Poof. Gone. We've lost a lot of good townsfolk to that cave. We're not sure what's inside, but we assume it's home to some kind of nefarious Sorcerer. We've closed off the road that passes by the cave, but it is a major trading route, and besides, we need to get back all the townspeople we've already lost. And that's where _you_ fine adventurers come in…"

"You can count me in!" Zoe affirms, neutral-good-like.

"Bashing the skulls of eeeeviiil!" Dennis minscs.

"This adventure will make a fine ballad indeed!" Tristan proclaims cheerfully.

"M'lord, I accept your task…" sez Mel.

An audible sigh of relief from the DM.

"BUT."

"Ugh. Buuut?"

"FIRST. IT. IS. BEING. TIME. TO. PARTAAAAAAAAAAAAY DOOOOOOOOOWN!" Melanie does a little spinning dance in her chair, and then hops onto the mahogany table with an astounding backflip, which is a particularly impressive thing to do when you're in heavy armour and have a Dexterity score of 8. "Tristan, my main man, time to lay down some siiiiiiiiiiiick beeeeeeats."

Tristan plays some dream-pop on his lute, tapping his Kick Pedal of Anachronism (+1) to create a reverb effect. It sounds, like, _really_ cool.

Reluctantly, the other two join in, waltzing half-heartedly. Pretty soon Melanie's coaxed the tavern's other nondescript patrons to join in on the ethereal revelry, and life for the next six weeks is pretty much one big party.


End file.
